Welcome to my poetry: Sol Standing Still!

Sunrise over The Lawley, Shropshire.

It’s a bit scary to think we’re already up to the longest day of the year, the summer solstice, and then on the 24^th June, Midsummer’s Day. I'm still waiting for summer to begin, not sure how we’ve got to midsummer! Unless we count the lovely sunny weather we had back in March!

Here’s my offering to Old Sol’s highest and lowest points!

       

     Sol Standing Still

Hear the cuckoo? He calls through the warm countryside,

On St. Aaron the monk’s special day,

Predicting that summer be cursed with much rain;

Poor harvests of wet, mouldy hay.

When the searing sun travels to its greatest height,

Shoot straight, three blood droplets descend,

Gather, preserve and keep each drop safe,

For from blood tiny fern seeds ascend.

Seeds of the fern contain magical powers,

Finding objects long lost over time,

Or render the holder invisible,

And aiding the lovesick who pine.

Twice yearly we celebrate ‘sol standing still’,

When he’s far to the south or the north,

We bow with allegiance to magnificence

And rejoice in the life he brings forth.

Sweetheart, my fingers are blooded and sore,

Needle glints in the soft lamplight glow,

Each stitch a fond kiss, each knot an embrace,

My love is so easy to sew.

On St. Thomas’s day will you wear my token?

It befits agricultural trades,

With stem stitch and trellis on simple cut twill

It’s the handsomest smock ever made.

Please wear this gift as the sun strives to climb

In the shallowest arc of the year,

The fern seed and smocking have completed their work,

          Now I am contented my dear.

Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet  xx

Welcome to my poetry: 'Just Passin' Through'!

I spotted the words ‘Just Passin’ Through’ on a lorry when out on my travels one day. I thought, ‘Ah, that’s a good title for a poem’, as ya do! And here is the result! A bit of nonsense, which I think we all need in our lives from time to time, especially in these days of ‘austerity measures’ and politicians who haven’t got a clue what the words actually mean!

I hope ‘Just Passin’ Through’ brings just a little smile!

'Just Passin' Through'

 Just Passin’ Through

When I made my entrance

On a cold Winter’s day

All warm, wet and wrinkled

And I’d found my own way

My mother looked down

And cooed, ‘Welcome to you.’

I cried, ‘Don’t get too fond,

‘Cos I’m just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, mum,

          Just passin’ through.’

I progressed through childhood

And then into my teens

Alphabet to A-level

Plus some in-betweens

My teachers sighed fussily

This day you will rue

As I left I retorted,

‘Hey, I’m just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, Teach,

          Just passin’ through.’

Relationships prospered

Then fell badly apart

Leaving splinters of grieving

In a poor broken heart

To the next casual conquest

I resolved to be true

But I heard myself saying

‘Sorry, just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, love,

          Just passin’ through.

In my thirties and forties

I lived life to the full

Going at everything

Like the proverbial bull

Slowing down by the sixties

And by the eighties I knew

That despite what they all say

I was just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, friends,

          Just passin’ through.

When I’ve huffed my last puff

And I’m sailing on high

With those pearly gates looming

In a blue cloudless sky

God will pull back the shutter

And say ‘How do you do?’

Then I’ll answer politely,

‘I hope I’m just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, Lord,

          Just passin’ through!’

Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet xx

Welcome to my poetry: A Gardener's World!

Stickywilly's domain!

The gardening season is in full swing! Lawns need mowing, pots need watering, pests are lurking and weeds are rampaging! It seems to be an exceptionally good year for goose grass or cleavers (Galium aparine), or the best name of all amongst many, stickywilly! The burrs (seed heads) were always known to me as a child as ‘sweethearts’! It is a particularly powerful plant, strangling the life out of anything that dares to get in its way! Oh, to be more like stickywilly!!

Anyway, here’s my take on the gardening season!

         A Gardener’s World

Keen patrons queue outside my gate

To pay their dues and keep the date

To point in wonder at my flowers

And gasp in awe at all the hours

I must have slaved through day and night

To conjure up this wondrous sight.

I thought I’d serve folks cups of tea

And give the loot to charity.

The hosta leaves are just amazing,

No weeds creep through the crazy-paving,

The honeysuckle teases noses,

And you can’t ignore my perfect roses.

Fresh mowing lines upon the lawn

Prove that I have been up since dawn

To edge and clip, and tie and trim,

Deadhead and harvest, sweat and strim.

My veggie patch is at its peak,

With lettuce, spuds, courgettes and leeks.

I’d thought of selling surplus stocks,

By way of Annie’s ‘honest’ box!

But what’s this lurking? Spider mite?

And oh the fly! Green! Black! And white?

Slugs manufacture doyleys green,

The furtive snail shins up the beans

Where busy bees red flowers shun,

Preferring mauve buddleias in the sun.

Woodlice and ants invade dry slabs,

Seeds germinate in dribs and drabs.

At least the docks (at four feet plus)

Cool nettle stings with little fuss.

Tall hollyhocks succumb to rust

As Mother Nature betrays my trust.

The wilt’s wiped out the clematis,

Grey mould’s become my nemesis,

Mice secretly devoured the peas,

And the rambler’s caught black spot disease.

But hey! The dandelions thrive!

And the cabbage white’s are all alive!

‘Garden Open’ was my dream I fear,

And it happens every blooming year!

Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet xx